


Those Who Walk Beyond the Wall

by Amelia041223



Series: The krakens are Calling [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Beyond the Wall - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-03-28 19:43:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3867511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia041223/pseuds/Amelia041223
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon goes beyond the wall to find Bran to bring him home. He realizes in penance for his sins, or, to put it more bluntly, his job for screwing things up, he needs to reunite the Starks. Jeyne follows him. It's the start of a relationship. Badness ensues, especially with whites, but Coldhands is helpful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. White Never Ends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My Brother who hates reading](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+Brother+who+hates+reading).



> This time I have not left such a gap between chapters, and I will try not to procrastinate! I hope you like it, but I'm not sure about romance, it's totally gross so I will tread lightly here, and I suck at writing in general. I hope you like it anyway!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon and Jeyne search for Bran beyond the Wall, but run into a bit of trouble.

Theon shivered in the bleak, captivating cold, his breath nearly frozen in his lungs, and his toes numb and stiff in their soft, worn boots, courteous of Jon Snow. He had been very reluctant to let them go, but he knew the crows would lead, so at least Theon would not lose the way at least. It was silent beyond the wall, a never ending sea of blinding white, and silence. It was not natural, he thought, for a place to be so devoid of sound.

Beside him, Jeyne Poole was huddled in an extra bundle of furs, a pitiful, yet uncharacteristically determined expression etched on her face. Theon had begged her not to come, but she had burst into tears, a situation he was not very practised in, and for fear of drawing attention, while revealing her true identity in the process, though it hardly mattered much anymore, he had hastily agreed. Now, they were alone in the Forest beyond the Wall, a place haunted by the many ghostly tales told by Old Nan while in the comfort of their beds. Their stories had quickly resurrected themselves as soon as Theon had set foot in the foreboding wasteland, and now, he had no blankets to hide beneath, although, he had always been the one to scoff boldly at the tellings. He was glad then, that he hadn't paid much attention as the others had. He remembered how Sansa would tremble in terror, and Arya would listen in wonder, how little Rickon would cry and be carried away, while Bran would correct any alteration. Jon would stay silent and brooding, while Robb would jape to lighten the mood- and that was when Theon stopped. He had to, for the past was too painful, and too filled with memories long taken away, and stained with horrors. It hurt to remember...

'Theon, what, what is that?' Jeyne squealed, wrenching him from his revery. Theon shuddered to himself, then glanced in the direction her finger had pointed shakily. By now they had walked fairly far into the forest, the Wall nearly invisible behind the dense greenery shrouded in white surrounding them. Theon, a finger of fear running through him, recognized the figures at once. Now was not the time to socialize, he thought fleetingly, before wrenching Jeyne as hurriedly as he could to her feet.

'Wildlings,' he had time to mutter, before grasping her thickly gloved hand and towing her roughly off the path they had been following, and crouching low in a thicket of trees. Theon peered cautiously between a gap in the leaves encrusted with silver frost, and watched as a procession of bedraggled, gaunt figures trudged forward with a dead look in their eyes.

When Theon was sure they were about to pass, leaving the path clear once more, one of them stumbled over a hidden root, and sprawled head first into the snow, crying out in alarm. The man's partners rushed to help him to his feet, while others began to unload their burdens. Theon cursed lightly under his breath. They were planning on settling down for the night, he could tell. They would never be able to leave without making some sort of sound.

Theon noticed the group was made nearly solely out of men, who, despite their obvious lack of nutrition, seemed rather robust, and strong. One, he noticed, was certainly a woman, although she seemed just as fierce as the others. Then Theon noticed, with a start, two of the group, the man who had fallen, and one who had helped him to his feet, had disappeared. Behind him, he heard Jeyne whimper. How could he have been so stupid? Theon whipped around, and felt a knife at his throat, not for the first time that week. Jeyne was held in a vice like grip witha blade against her slender neck, while the man who had fallen smiled wickedly. A jolt of fear shot through him, and he nearly threw himself on the knife as he attempted to, what exactly? Theon did not know.

'So, what have we got here, lads?' The man before Theon rasped, his breath putrid and stale. He had a dark, wiry beard with black eyes with a hint of cruelty blazing in them. He cackled, and tore Theon to his feet, nearly picking him clean off the ground in the process. The man holding Jeyne had a line of stubble lining his weak chin, and pale, green eyes that peered greedily at her chest.

'This one is mine,' he sneered, shifting his up to her breasts. A dull anger began to bloom in Theon's stomach. Jeyne closed her eyes in resignation.

'Oh, and leave me with the old man after dragging your arse out of the snow? I think not!' The man dragging Theon along by the elbow rumbled. I'm two and twenty, he thought dimly. They were both shoved to their knees before the rest of the traveling group of Wildlings, their wrists quickly bound behind their backs. Jeyne trembled as the man with the green eyes began lightly touching her neck. Gods know she's had too much of that, Theon thought angrily, leave her alone.

'So, what do we have here?' Who Theon surmised to be the leader of the group chuckled. 'I'm curious, what would a pretty maid and her old man be doing, traveling alone, unprotected, and certainly defenceless in a place like this?' He was a tall man, with thick auburn hair that fell in tightly wound curls. Jeyne visibly blushed.

'He, he is not my father,' she answered timidly. Damn, she sounded too proper to be a Wildling, and made them only more suspicious. Theon quickly spoke up.

'I'm her uncle,' he said, well, might as well act older if it was expected, 'Our village was attacked by the Others, and we just managed to escape. I'm supposing the same might have happened to you?' He prayed the story would pass. The leader grunted, a distant look in his eyes.

'Which village?' He said suddenly.

'I, I'm sorry?' Theon stammered.

'Which village, for, I think your story is, well,' and he spat in Theon's face.

'I don't see what business it is of yours to question us. What are you lot up to, wandering through the woods and taking advantage of seemingly every young woman you happen to cross along the road?' He retorted without thinking. Oh no, oh no, that was a terrible mistake, he thought, cringing for a blow. None came. Instead, a low warble began in the recesses of the man's throat, before building to a fiersome crescendo of f laughter straight from the man's gut, his entire frame rocking with howls, and guffaws. Theon only dared relax for a fraction of a second, before the man went silent, and grasped Theon's jaw roughly between his fingers, the grin on his face quickly turned to a threatening glare.

'I'm afraid I haven't got a lot of patience in me, old man,' he growled. Theon, ignoring every instinct coursing through him, stared back defiantly. Damn, why couldn't he remember the names of the villages beyond the Wall? Now he was really starting to regret having ignored Old Nan.

The man sneered, and spat in the snow, his unpleasant features twisting grotesquely.

'I ain't got time for lyin' prisoners,' he said, 'leave him, take the girl. At least she'll be some comfort in the cold, and those furs she's got look warm,' Jeyne screamed as the man with the green eyes smiled coldly, wrenched her roughly to a stand, while touching her in various places. Theon struggled feebly in the man's grasp, his wrists tightly bound. They could not take her away for their pleasure, he thought loudly. They couldn't. Suddenly, Theon realized he couldn't be away from her. It filled him with longing, and dread. He knew he could not let them leave with her.

'Wait, wait, I, I,' Theon groped blindly for words. Jeyne stared at him, with large, dark, pleading eyes. Their brown, not grey, he thought instinctively. The man who had held his chin, who was now helping himself to the buttons of Jeyne's furs merely glanced at him, and chuckled.

'Dump him, will you, Henry?' He said, before returning to his task. Hopelessness welled up in Theon's chest as the man holding him, 'Henry' he surmised, shoved him roughly to the side. It hurt when Jeyne called his name. Jeyne, Jeyne, it rhymes with pain, he thought vaguely. The crows above cried in unison, a harmony of mindless calls. Theon was turned away from the scene, and returned to his knees. He winced as fire laced up his joints, but that was the farthest concern from his mind. The sole thought that circled his mind, was that Jeyne needed him, and once more, he had abandoned her.

Shame filled Theon's heart as Henry held a cold, sharp blade to his neck.

'We're gonna burn you after'ards, so's you don't come back to 'aunt us,' the man said solemnly above him. So, after everything, he was going to be burned after all. He felt nothing but regret. He had failed, and hadn't even been able to protect Jeyne.

It's all over, thought Theon, as the sword began to split his skin.

Then a hand shot out of the snow, and grasped Theon by the knee.

I really am dead now, he thought vaguely, and how did that person get under the snow? Must be awfully cold. The. Theon looked closer, and realized at the same moment his heart came to a shuddering halt.

It was made of rotting flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are more chapters coming, so please wait!


	2. Cold Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> White Walkers

Theon's blood ran cold. A scream tore it's way from his chest, only to get caught in his throat.

The hand clenched to his knee smelled rot with decay. The world had gone silent, then the blade at Theon's throat was quickly torn away, and screams soon echoed through the forest. Slowly, thoughts began to flow once more, and instinct caught for control. The first thing to enter his mind was Jeyne. Theon wrenched his knee from the dead thing's grasp, and lurched to his feet, nearly tripping over his cloak. Around him, the snow had risen in flurries around him, and fear clung deep to his stomach. He struggled violently against the ropes binding his wrists, as the dead rose around him, their pale eyes glistening, the flesh hanging from their bones. Theon nearly dropped from fright, but mustered what little courage he had, and plunged forward.

'Jeyne!' He cried, despair in his voice. He could not fail her again, not ever. There she was, terror stricken, her furs hanging loosely on her body, her arms twisted behind her back as the man holding her coward behind her as if she were a shield. Theon noticed fresh tears had frozen on her cheeks, and a dull hatred blossomed inside him. A White Walker loomed before her, and, without thinking, Theon lunged forward, flungnhis weight against the creature. It barely noticed, and merely wrapped it's cold hands around Jeyne's soft throat. She merely stood, frozen with fear. Fight, you stupid girl, he wanted to scream, fight! Theon slowly worked his hands free, and reached around Jeyne, pulling the sword hanging forgotten at the man's belt. The man, life drawing back to his mind, abandoned Jeyne and joined the frenzy in the snow, an axe in his hands. Theon, grasping the sword inexpertly in his gloved fingers heaved the great longsword and slashed savagely through the Other's torso, nearly cutting it in half. It released it's grip in surprise, before falling to the snow. As it's arms began to crawl forward, Theon clutched Jeyne roughly by the arm, and hauled her away, dodging the Wildlings as they swung their weapons blindly at the oncoming siege of death. It was a scene from a nightmare, but never one of his.

Theon abandoned the sword in the snow, and swept Jeyne into his arms, as her limbs had begun to fail. Stumbling through the snow, they nearly escaped the clearing, when Theon felt strong fingers grasp his ankle. Caught off balance, he sprawled to the ground, dropping Jeyne unceremoniously. She rolled away, as arms dragged at Theon's cloak, pulling him closer. He fought wildly for release, but the Wights held him down. He was caught in the snow, his arms and legs pinned down, as one Other climbed over him, it's rotting face expressionless, it's hands squeezing Theon's windpipe. The world spun, and as darkness began to cloud his vision, he was released. Theon coughed raggedly, taking sharp lungfulls of air. Without a single thought, he stumbled to his feet, and found Jeyne lying unconscious on the ice. Completely devoid of strength, Theon attempted to gather her limp form in his arms, but failed. He settled to covering her body in a protective huddle against the danger raging around them.

'You will not die, Jeyne Poole, you will not, for I will not let you,' he whispered in her ear. This time, a voice called above him, deep, and strangely familiar, although he would never be able to place it, not for his life.

'Rise, man, and help the girl. We have a long way to travel yet, and you cannot go alone.' Theon raised his head, and met a tall figure shrouded in a black cloak. For a fleeting moment he thought of the Night's Watch, but the. He noticed the man's hands. The were black as those of the dead, like charred meat. He shuddered, and, flinging these thoughts from his mind, obeyed and used every muscle he could find in his own battered body to lift Jeyne into his arms once more. Theon slowly inched through the snow, too tired for suspicion, and began to walk.

-

As darknes began to creep into the clouds, the strange man soon called for a rest, noticing, Theon supposed, the exhaustion on his own face. After having rested Jeyne gently against a tree, he collapsed, panting, every bone in his body screaming in agony.

The man stood over him, as he lay in the snow, gasping for breath, hidden still beneath his hood. Theon did not need to wonder why the man did not seem to tire. He knew full well what the man was, and somehow, it did not frighten him. The man did not seem to have hurt Theon in any way, or seem to despise him either, which was strange, if not an improvement. Theon decided to step away from this delicate subject. Do not anger him, he thought, do not anger him, or he may not be so kind after all.

After a few moments, Theon began to relax. He slowly propped himself up beside Jeyne, mostly to see if she had been hurt. There were a few scratches on her face, but beyond that he couldn't find anything obvious, for didn't dare to look further. Her furs were still a tad loose on her frame, but he decided not to tighten them. Theon sat in silence for a few moments, before directing his attention back towards the mysterious man.

'What should I call you, um,' Theon racked his brain for a suitable title, but was unable to settle on one. The man seemed to look at him.

'Coldhands,' he replied curtly.

'Why did you help us?' Said Theon, curiosity blooming in his mind.

'You seek the boy beneath the tree, yes?' Coldhands replied. Theon nodded, slightly startled, 'I know where to find him, and you cannot go on as you are, unprotected. It is time for him to go home.' Theon nodded, then briefly wondered what he meant. 

'Do you know who I am?' Theon asked.

'You are Theon of House Greyjoy,' he replied, before turning away. Theon gazed at the man in further puzzlement, before turning towards Jeyne as he heard her stir.

'Theon?' She whispered. He quickly turned towards her, as she called his name with such a sweet, gentle voice.

'I'm here, My Lady,' he reassured, 'are you all right? Did, were you hurt?' She shook her head, though he could see vivid bruising around her neck. She quickly covered it in furs, while her body shivered.

'Are they gone?' Jeyne trembled. Theon nodded.

'Yes, they have gone, but not for long. We must keep going, my Lady.' She bit her lip, before moving to rise. She stopped when she saw Coldhands.

'This is, this is Coldhands. He saved us,' Said Theon. Jeyne thanked the man with courtesy lacing her voice, although Theon noticed her eyes flutter with fear as they glanced briefly at the man's hands.

'Come, Lady Arya, we cannot stay long, or they'll find us, ' Theon urged, no question as to who 'they' were. Jeyne nodded as if to move, before falling backwards in pain. 

'Perhaps we should let the Lady rest for a bit?' Said Coldhands, before disappearing ahead through the forest. Theon was not concerned. He knew Coldhands would return. He inched towards Jeyne but stayed within a respectful distance. Tears trickled silently down her cheeks, and not for the first, Theon wondered why he had let Jeyne come with him in the first place. It was becUse you wanted her to, a treacherous part of him said, because you couldn't be apart from her again. It was true, he realized. When they had been apart, he has always felt a bit of yearning for her touch, and a constant craving to know of her safety. She was not safe anymore, and that was his fault, he thought angrily. She was going to die because of him. It that was true, then Theon vowed never to let her do anything of the sort. He would protect her until the life had fled from his body once and for all.

'Theon, you saved me,' she said, weakness in her voice. Theon shook his head.

'It is my fault you had to be saved,' he replied sadly, and felt thick tears threatening to escape from his eyelids. He hid his face in his hands, enveloped in self loathing. Theon let the harsh leather scratch his cheeks. Then he felt smooth hands reach for his fingers, and let them peel the gloves from his eyes. He looked up into her's. They're dark brown, not grey, but a pretty shade.

'It is not your fault, you could not have kept me from coming,' she said. Theon shook his head.

'Yes, I could have. I could have made Jon Snow lock you in your dorm, while I left alone. I am solely to blame,' and then he could not control himself any longer. Tears streamed unwillingly down, and nearly froze on his face.

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry...' And he felt her arms lock around his frail torso. Theon wrapped his arms around her head, shielding her from the bitter wind, tangling his hands in her thick, hazel hair wet with snow.

'I can never fail you again, my Lady, never,' he sobbed.

'Please, I am no Lady, my name is Jeyne Poole, a simple steward's daughter, please, just say my name, please...' Theon noticed tears on her smooth pale skin. He lightly kissed her forehead, and murmured in her ear, quietly so no one would hear but her.

'Jeyne, you are Jeyne Poole. Jeyne, it rhymes with pain. Your name is Jeyne,'

'Thank you, thank you,' she cried, burying her face in his narrow shoulder.

'Jeyne, Jeyne,' the crows screamed above. Theon felt her lips smile against his cloak.

'They know your name,' he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is another chapter coming!


	3. Beneath the Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon, Jeyne, and Coldhands reach their destination. Conversation and conflict ensues.

Jeyne's face, paled by exhaustion, was lined with frost, her eyelashes hanging heavy with flakes. Theon wished to carry her, for it was his fault she was there in the first place. She should be with Jon, South of the Wall, not here with me, he thought miserably. They had been walking for days, each time resting for only a moment, before fleeing once more, desperate to our run the dead. Each night they would walk with more urgency, each day a drag through the snow. Each time, Coldhands would disappear for a while, but would always return with nuts, or even once, a squirrel, which they had eaten with relish. Due to his lack of teeth, Theon had been forced to tear his small morsel into even tinier portions, and suck on the tough piece, and eventually swallow the slimy meat. Coldhands never told of how he had caught the agile creature, though Theon had never asked. Better never to ask questions, he had come to learn. Now, Coldhands was walking almost silently a few paces ahead.

Theon's breath nearly froze in his throat as he trudged ceaselessly through the thick blanket of snow. If only it were one, he thought vaguely, then they would all be able to wrap themselves tightly within it's folds, and let the storm wash over them. This tantalizing thought nearly forced Theon into a sprawl, sheer will and common sense he never knew he possessed kept him on his mangled feet, as well as the constant feeling of responsibility, and protection he held for Jeyne. He could read clearly the pain etched on her thin, delicate face. It had not been the first time he had seen it, and nor would it be the last. Theon shuddered, and wound his cloak tightly around his torso, so as not to let the air reach through his skin, and freeze his heart where it beat gently against his bones. He had to help Jeyne get through, which also meant he himself had to make it, in order to keep her safe.

That was when Jeyne stumbled.

She fell heavily, her furs cascading around her, and Theon nearly tripped over himself to get to her. Jeyne lay still, unmoving. Theon couldn't breathe. It seemed as though the air had been stripped straight from his lungs. Panic rising urgently inside him, he dropped to his knees, and pulled her face roughly from the cold, brushing the ice from her face. He struggled to pull her from the snow, it's embracing arms so inviting, begging Theon to stay, to lie with it in full embrace, but he could not. He knew the danger. Once you gave in, there was no going back.

'Help me!' Theon screamed at the man with hands of ash. The dark figure turned, face ever hidden beneath his hood, but Theon sensed a sort of sadness in those invisible eyes. Unperturbed, Theon continued to pull the girl from the ground. Her eyes were closed peacefully, though he still saw her lips twitching restlessly. Laden with new hope, yearning for the glow of life behind her brown eyes. Brown, not grey, he remembered. Come on, come on... With one last effort, he ripped Jeyne from the snow, and, cradling her unsteadily in his arms, stepped forward. Coldhands turned away with indifference, and continued up the bass of the steep slope. Theon saw it, and grit his teeth determinedly together. Damn it, they would make it, even if he broke every bone in his damned body. She would make. She had to, and Theon would see to that.

Then he saw it.

A small flame flickering brighter than any star could ever hope to, it's light giving Theon new strength. He nearly ran forward, legs burning, back braking, arms waning, fear lingering treacherously. And they made it. Theon collapsed in front of what looked to be a vast cave beneath a Weirwood tree, its face streaming crimson tears. Theon still held Jeyne tightly to his chest, refusing to give her up. Someone would hurt her again, and it would be all his fault. Small hands were tugging at his sleeves, willing him to stand. Theon rose reluctantly, slowly, Jeyne still caressed in his embrace. He looked down into the cunning, luminescent eyes, closely resembling those of a stray cat in Winterfell, belonging to a child, to his slight bafflement. She was small, and agile, most unlike him, and yet, there was definitely nothing childish about her. The little girl wore an expression of maturity, and knowledge so deep, it felt scathing. The girl looked at him deeply, and said simply,

'You are a murderer, and have come for the boy. You will find he will not wish to leave with you, but he must. He has learned to fly, and be the tree, but now it is time for him to return to his family, and the present,' and with that, she turned and lead the way down the tunnel and into the unknown, leaving Coldhands out in the cold. Theon puzzled over her small speech. Flying? Trees? Gods, this place was strange, no mistake. How was he supposed to persuade a child of whom he had stolen their castle, and betrayed their brother, to come with him? It seemed beyond impossible. A slight chuckle danced tantalizingly on his tongue, but he held it back by instinct.

Theon gasped openly as they entered the main cavern beneath the tree. Many children were milling about, some casting him knowing looks, others ignoring him entirely, which he preferred. It made his skin crawl when any of them looked his way. They knew what he had done, and it made him feel exposed, as though stripped bare. At one point, a group of females came close to them, and made as if to steal Jeyne from his grasp. At first Theon clung to her tightly, but then realized perhaps it were the only way she could be saved. Severe reluctance seeping heavily through his heart, Theon gently let her go and watched as the children lifted Jeyne on to a nimble stretcher, and carried her away.

Theon was then led by the same girl to a different chamber, and there he found, in the darkest tunnel, Bran. Although he did not look like the little boy he remembered. Firstly, he was sitting alone in a chair made of roots, looking as though he were carved into them as well, with his head tilted back, the whites of his eyes the only thing staring vacantly back at him. Theon shivered. The boy looked much older, with lines drawn into his face he was not yet supposed to have. Like Rickon, he thought. Like me, and that made him smile a tad, a small twitch at the corner of his mouth. Then Bran awakened from whatever strange dream he had been lost in. As soon as the boy's eyes focused, bright and piercing, on him, they instantly narrowed.

'I knew you would come,' he said, anger brimming on the edge of his voice, although, strangely, it did not seem to be directed at him. This was very new to Theon.

'I told you, I'm not leaving. I am bound to the trees now, and I came all this way to fly, and stay securely, like the roots in the ground. I'm not going.' He said flatly. Well, this was not going too well, Theon thought. Still as stubborn as a child.

'A bird cannot fly with it's wings pinned to the ground,' Theon jumped at the voice, deep and intelligent, and also directly behind him. He turned, and saw what looked to be a man, but not quite, entwined intricately within the roots of another tree, as though trapped. 'Go with this man, and live among the present, with those who love and care for you. You have learned how to fly, and see, now you must use your abilities to help the living. Go with him, and live with new knowledge, and light. You need to stop what's coming, Bran, and you cannot do that here, safe beneath the earth. You must do it above,' Bran remained silent after this speech, when two others rushed from the darkness, nearly knocking Theon, wrought with fatigue, to the ground. He straightened himself, and stared at the new arrivals.

'If Bran is leaving, then we must as well, to protect him,' said a girl with thick, dark curls, and a determined expression etched across her face. The other was a small boy, around the same age as Bran, though Theon couldn't be sure. He stood with an air of wisdom about him, like everyone else in here, he thought.

'Bran, listen, you must leave to help the world above. If you do not, you know the consequences,' said the boy. Bran looked at him, and sighed. He gently slid from his throne, and sidled up to Theon, who regarded him wearily. Bran looked into his eyes for the first time, and said with indifference, 

'Theon looks tired. We shall leave later, when he has rested,' and, without a second glance, Bran sidled from the room. Theon felt uneasy. This wasn't right. Theon had done something terrible, and yet, Bran did not seem angry. He just seemed, well, understanding, which was strange, as though the boy had seen him before, in his current condition, and, well, pitied? It felt strange, and uncomfortable. Theon knew he could never be forgiven for his crimes, though it felt strange not to be loathed for them. Although Bran was not happy to see him, Theon knew he felt closer to home, as though he were a reminder of the life that awaited him.

'Theon,' he swung around at the sound of his name, wincing at the pain in his toes, 'I wish to thank you for coming. You must rest. Let Leaf find you a tunnel,' the strange, elderly man suggested, gesturing towards the child guide. Too uneasy to refuse, Theon let her lead him into more tunnels, before they came upon a neat chamber filled with two neatly woven mats covered in furs. Theon awkwardly thanked the child, and gratefully lay among the covers, waiting anxiously for Jeyne. Somehow he knew she would be safe, although the entire place made Theon cringe with unease. The journey back would be a long one, and somehow, Theon knew it would end when they reached the wall, for the man had spoken of something sounding like destiny, and consequence.

Somehow, Theon knew the end was a very long ways off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please leave feedback, and there are loads more parts coming. I promise this story becomes way more interesting later on!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it, and please leave feedback, I really need it! Part six will probably be a while, but hold tight. There are piles of plot twists and interestingness to come! This will be a long series. You have been warned.


End file.
